


i hate that i can be seen like this

by imgoingtocrash



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flirting, Light Angst, Panic Attacks, Post-Iron Man 3, Rated T because these two are notorious flirts, Spiraling Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 14:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19086823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imgoingtocrash/pseuds/imgoingtocrash
Summary: The thing is—he’s supposed to be over this by now.He did the whole thing: fought his inner demons, half died in nowhere, Tennessee, almost lost his significant other and then watched her kick an incredible amount of ass, and finished it all off with a big romantic gesture. He's getting his reactor removed, for christ's sake! A full hero's journey, top to bottom. Luke Skywalker would be jealous.Tony assumed that defeating Killian and destroying his suits would be the end of his panic attacks too. He hates that he's wrong, but Pepper helps him through it.





	i hate that i can be seen like this

**Author's Note:**

> I got my card for Bad Things Happen Bingo! If you have requests/ideas/etc. to fill those prompts, I’m always open to hearing them. (Or you can just talk to me about Marvel stuff more, because that’s my jam right now, AGAIN, thanks Endgame.) [Here's my card,](https://imgoingtocrash.tumblr.com/post/185354406994/i-hate-that-i-can-be-seen-like-this-by) which I’ve started with this fic, filling the Panic Attack square.
> 
> Takes place post-IM3, somewhere in-between the end sequences. Title comes from Panic Attack by Liza Anne. ( _Fine, But Dying_ is a great album, you’re welcome.)
> 
> Thanks for reading, enjoy!

The thing is—he’s supposed to be over this by now.

He did the whole thing: fought his inner demons, half died in nowhere, Tennessee, almost lost his significant other and then watched her kick an incredible amount of ass, and finished it all off with a big romantic gesture. He's getting his reactor removed, for christ's sake! A full hero's journey, top to bottom. Luke Skywalker would be jealous.

This is the part where he and Pepper should be riding off into the sunset: Iron Man no longer an obsession, Tony using all of his new free time to lazily and throughly please Pepper on every single horizontal and occasionally vertical flat surface of the hotel room they're staying in while securing housing at the Tower post-mansion disaster. (His hands are never busy enough, without a lab, and Pepper loves his fingers when they're focused on her, so everybody wins except for their business-related productivity.)

Instead, it's two weeks after the Killian mess, one spent getting Pepper's Extremis out, the next consulting with doctors about getting Tony’s AR removed. 

Pepper is peeling an orange, the rind sticking to her manicured nails a little when she pulls at it. Her leg is hanging off of the hotel bed, the other tucked up under her thigh. He’s focusing very intently on the way her tongue rolls in concentration from his position leaning against the footboard of the hotel bed with one arm, stopped on his way to the shower by their conversation.

"The mansion is a total bust," Pepper says, teeth sucking in air to clean the underside of her nail. Jesus, either he's desperately horny this morning or she really can make anything sexy. "The guy in charge of the clean-up crew said it looked like one of those, and I quote, 'Alien fuckers from New York followed you home like a lost puppy and did a lot more than tear up a couch.' Hopeful news on recovering the bots, though. By the time you're done healing up from surgery, I think DUM-E and U will be—“

For some reason, some part of what she says triggers him. Pepper Potts—iconic, caring, empathetic, yet ruthless in a boardroom, knower of his every single thought often before he has it, sole owner of his heart—setting him off while picking at a goddamn fruit, wearing a t-shirt and his boxers, _what the hell_?

He just—it’s in his mind, this mixed bag of comments. The monsters come and he falls, falls, falls, but the suit is gone and there's Pepper falling too, hand outstretched and it's his fault, always his fault. The reactor is gone and his chest pounds against the empty hole of his torso. Loki's staff embeds him, Pepper watches and sighs, walking out the door, because he's empty, he can't protect her, he's so _scared_ —

"Tony?" Pepper tilts her head at him, look wary, aware he's no longer with her. It wouldn’t be the first time, exactly. Back when they were boss and PA, he was known to tune her out until she brought him back to earth with a snap of her fingers in his face, or in her more perturbed moments, a light flick to his skull.

Except, this is different. She just doesn’t know it yet. He doesn’t _want_ her to know about this, his dirty new secret, where he breaks down from the inside out and his every emotion crawls from his fractured heart to press down on his lungs in the span of seconds. He’s not supposed to be like this anymore. 

Instead of his usual move—cracking wise and apologizing for thinking about new AR capabilities and letting her know she has his full attention by lazily trailing his fingers from her shoulders to her ass—Tony crumples in on himself. ”Shit,” he whispers. “Seriously?”

He tries to—chill the hell out, or whatever, but just like every time since the first, the stupid panic attack makes his brain feel like it’s got some kind of virus, the old AOL boot-up noises replacing his mind’s usual whip-fast decision making.

His legs are shaking, he’s collapsing, he’s not going to make it to that heart surgery because he’s going to die right here and Pepper’s going to have to watch.

“Tony? What—“ Pepper is suddenly by his side, breakfast tray abandoned. She has that special Tony-related crease between her brows, which he normally finds very cute. He tries to pace, tries to walk it off, thinks only _I can’t let her see me like this, she doesn’t need this._ Instead his legs are still stupid jello-made garbage, and he wobbles to his knees, ends up on the floor, looking up to Pepper like he’s begging for benediction, and maybe he is, gripping the bedpost so tight the lacquered wood squeaks against his sweaty palm.

“God, honey, I’m so sorry.” He tries to reassure her. He’s scaring her, he’s scaring himself, he just wants to be _normal_ again, why is that so hard? “I’m—it’ll be over soon, and it won’t happen anymore. It’s just—one last one for the road, and I’ll be all good. I’m sleeping again, baby, I’m not working on anything, I’m getting better, this is just—aftershocks, or some shit, I’m fine, I’m—“

He reaches out to her, but his hand is shaking, _when did that start?_ He curls the hand back in and pushes his head against his bent knee. Does rocking help? He doesn’t know. He has to stop. Pepper can’t do this anymore. He’s supposed to be better and this is stupid, and he can’t lose her, he _can’t_ , he loves her so much and this can’t be the final straw, he’s such a mess, and she’ll stop cleaning up after him one day and it’ll be all over and he’s gonna die, he’s _dying_ —

“Tony,” Pepper says, voice so soft. He wants to crawl into her warmth and stay forever. He watches her, nose still against his knee, the movement of rocking propelling him infinitely back and forth, unable to stay still despite not being able to stand. Her sleep-tousled hair forms a halo around her head, glowing more blonde than strawberry in the morning light. She crouches down on the hardwood, situating herself across from him. He feels terrible for making her do that, they’re getting older and it’s not good for either of them. She doesn’t show any back pain if she feels it, just keeps eye contact with him and says “I’m going to take your hand, okay?”

His hand twitches involuntarily, reluctant to unfold from his childish little human ball. She lays her fingers over his own lightly. He smells the lavender of her body lotion, sees the way it decreases the intensity of the natural folds of wrinkles on her fingers. Her hands are a silky balm against his own, calloused and scarred from years of mechanical abuse in the lab.

She takes his hand, lacing their fingers together tightly. He watches her place his hand over her chest. The only material separating the skin of their hands from her breast is the cotton of her t-shirt. He focuses in on exactly which shirt it is—not one of his graphic tees, but a pale blue men’s undershirt that they purchased on a Target run the week before since all of their own clothes burned with the mansion. He loves Casual Pepper as much as he does the woman who walks out the door in pristine suits and sharp heels to match. She’s been stealing his clothes since their first few weeks of dating, and he’s never complained.

Wrapped in these errant musings is the feeling of her heartbeat, chasing away the spiraling thoughts, the way the arc reactor feels almost sore from his straining chest muscles.

“Breathe, Tony,” Pepper hums, the hand not curled around his own running through his hair. “Just take your time.” His Pepper, filled with unparalleled patience. He’s trying so hard to deserve her.

He nods, and he keeps trying. He can feel the panic still—his stomach feels bottomed out, like his fear could come back to the surface if he keeps picking at it. The panic attacks of before were easier to get out of, in a way. The situation demanded his composure. Harley wouldn’t let him go too far down. Rhodey was on the line and he needed to be helpful, not incapacitated by the fear. Here, where he’s supposed to be fine, where it’s supposed to be finished, he wishes Pepper weren’t here, yet wonders about what would happen if she wasn’t. Would he have just thrown himself to the floor, curled up and sobbed himself sick? Very pathetic, but possible.

The shaking is at the very least less intense, but his muscles loosen because of it, and it makes him feel wrung out. He doesn’t look at Pepper, anymore. In fact, he looks away, and does his best to think of what to say and fails. She just firmly curls him more into her. It’s awkward on the floor, but she makes do, pressing his head down to her shoulder and moving their tangled hands down to her lap. The footboard of the bed is prodding against his spine, but nothing’s okay right now except for the way Pepper’s grounding him in a moment where he was sure she’d run away. 

(The thing about Pepper Potts, though, that he’d known since she accepted the job as his PA, is that she doesn’t really _do_ running away. If she does, it’s generally while yelling and cursing his name because it’s his fault that she has to, which is fair.)

“I didn’t mean to—it’s stupid, you know? I figured it was just because of—well, the nightmares and not sleeping and whatever, but here we are, surprise, Tony Stark’s still a mess!” Tony buries himself further into Pepper, lays a kiss on her throat as an apology. “Your mess, though. Always yours. I’m going to do better, Pep. I’ll get back to normal for you, or because of you, or…”

“Tony, you don’t have to apologize or—it’s not a burden, or a problem. This is—“ She moves, lifting his head so that she can meet his eyes. “You’ve been through so much. I know slowing down isn’t really your style, but just this once, I think your brain is trying to tell you something.”

“We already know I think too much. It’s part of the whole genius schtick.”

“Sneaky way to pat yourself on the back, but my point is that…I don’t know. We both go through a lot of stressful stuff, Tony. You’re scared of what you’ve seen, I’m scared for you. I spend all day in a high-stress environment, you spend all that time in the equivalent of a high-tech tin can. Anxiety is kind of our default, by now.”

“That’s not what I want, though,” Tony says. He can feel it thrumming in his bones, despite destroying the suits. _Build, protect, go, go, go._ He knows once there’s a lab around him again, there will be another suit. He will still be Iron Man. The building impulse is gone for now, but if these panic attacks keep coming like this, the next suit Mark could be in his hands days after his surgery is over. “You don’t deserve to feel that, just because I decided to do—“ Tony waves his hand in an all-encompassing gesture. “All this.”

“Neither do you.” Pepper looks at him, and Tony once again wonders at her empathy, her belief in him. Her own kind of superhero, at least to him. “You don’t have to hide this from me, Tony. You were a very different kind of mess all those years ago, and I much prefer the man you are now. That man has done so many brave things for other people. For me. Sometimes the bravest thing you do for me is be honest about what you’re feeling. You know I’d never turn you away—not for this.”

“I know,” Tony says, because he does, deep down. The thought of it actually relieves some of his more circular thoughts. Even if one day he messes this up, if she leaves him because he can’t get it all under control, she’ll never stop being his best friend, next to Rhodey. Anything he says to her is locked in the vault, and she’s here for him at the end of the day because she wants to be, never because she feels like she has to. If the panic attack or any of the other bullshit his brain is doing lately really bothered her, she would say so (loudly, pointedly, possibly while arranging his shit together for him.)

“Thank you,” he murmurs, bringing up their still-joined hands to kiss hers. He crinkles his nose. “You smell like citrus.” As always, she catches the devious twinkle in his eye just as his tongue makes contact with one of her fingers, the bright taste of her orange mixing with the taste of her skin.

Pepper simply rolls her eyes, pointedly ignoring the playful lift of his brow to match the comment he makes about exactly what he could do with his tongue and her fingers were she to let him.

“You bounce back so fast,” she huffs, lifting herself off of the hard floor with only a small grunt. Then she looks down at him, and he recognizes the widening of her own eyes, playing at innocent. “That’s too bad. I was prepared to comfort you for _hours_ …”

“Sexy comfort? Second base? Just cuddling? I’m very flexible, Miss Potts.” He pulls himself off the ground, stiff and sore and tired, but uses the momentum of his heavy limbs to wrap himself around Pepper, her back against his chest.

“I have no doubt about that, Mister Stark,” Pepper replies, deadpan, as if she’s not flirting just as much as he is. She breaks the act to turn in his arms and smile at him, genuine. She meets his kiss when he leans down, and he feels the panic of before continue to recede at her touch.

**Author's Note:**

> When I did my pre-Endgame rewatch, I remembered how much I loved the portrayal of Tony’s anxiety in IM3—overheating, trouble breathing, jelly legs, spiraling thoughts. IM3 meant a lot to me when it came out because of that, and so I really liked the idea of Tony thinking “ah yes, my trauma is now over! panic attacks no more!” only to have one and hate himself for not just magically healing from all he’s been through.
> 
> On top of that, it was important to me to have Pepper experience him going through it too, because she experiences the nightmares, but not so much the panic attacks, and so I thought it would be great to have another presence to fight Tony's anxious mental state in this situation. (And also, maybe a certain author used to be really good at panicking and spiraling about being an anxious mess, and she's channeling a little to soothe old wounds. Just maybe.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
